The Seventh Circle

Marcus charged to his wife, but hobbled after a step brought a shock of pain. He hopped on one foot as he raised the other to find a rose pinned to his heel by a thorn. There was a scattering of them on the floor and around Gina. She was clearly still alive though in great pain. His hands hovered over the knife, unsure how best to help. If he removed it she could bleed out in minutes.

"Baby, just don't move," he managed. "We'll get—" Gina's expression changed from panic to dread as she looked over Marcus' shoulder.

"Behind you!"

Marcus wheeled around but found only the cold blast of winter air in his face. There was a click and his viscera fell to his knees. His ears pricked. It was too late

"Turn around, Marcus," Gina said, all trace of panic gone from her voice. Marcus obeyed. The barrel of his Beretta was inches from his eye.

"You fucked her didn't you?"

"Didn't you," she repeated, nearly a whisper, without the strength of any hope he would deny it.

"Just say it isn't true! Lie to me if you ever loved me, Marcus, Please!"

Marcus didn't speak, but closed his eyes and bowed his head into the gun. His hands, with all the tenderness and warmth a man can give, rose to close around Gina's. He opened his eyes to see his wife's one last time. It was over.

"I'm sorry."

A sob burst from Gina. Her feet faltered and she took a step back. The weight of the weapon increased tenfold every second as she struggled to hold it without shaking. Courage was failing her and the gun lowered from his eye to his bare skinned torso. The truth, so plain and sudden cut deeper than the blade though she'd known it all along. Her hand clenched, and tip of the pistol exploded into fury. Gina inhaled her emotion and jailed it under scowl and clenched jaw. Seeing Marcus still stood, bleeding with an infuriating look of resigned contrition, she squeezed the trigger again. The pressure of her anger and sorrow forced out of her mouth in a scream she could not hope to contain. Tears poured from her eyes as bullets from the gun she fired until the hammer clicked against the empty chamber three times.

Marcus foundered and fell to the floor. All was distorted, blurry and numb. The room grew darker by the second and life was as a lucid dream Marcus tried so desperately to cling to but it only slipped away faster. Through the cloud of death closing in around him, Gina cried out in pain and grunted as if kicked.

Over and again the sounds of suffering repeated until Gina's fell to the floor next to him. Before darkness consumed them, she pressed the knife into his hand and kissed him goodbye.

Gina Meets the Real Casanova Slasher

Nearly a month had passed since Marcus died. Marcus was an easy target for negligent police work. Detectives, eager for the fame of finally closing the Casanova Case, snatched up all the planted evidence with blind avarice. After all, had they not found him clutching the blade that not only sliced up his unfortunate lover, Kyrie but also nearly killed his wife? What choice did he have after she learned the truth?

It was his semen, oozed and smeared into Gina's panties, that was the masterstroke of her plan. After she shoved the knife into her throat, she took Kyrie's underwear and planted her own. They were almost a perfect fit. Nobody cared to notice if they were too tight. DNA doesn't lie. Case Closed.

She had made great and terrible sacrifices, but her design was flawless... nearly. This final detail she did not overlook; she was far too smart for that. It was a calculated risk, one for which the consequences would almost certainly prove fatal, but the chances so slim she dismissed it entirely.

Gina entered Stacy's the day she was finally strong enough to return to work and graciously received the applause, the embraces and the condolences of her employees.

"Oh my God!" one of the simpering cunts would gush while trying to strangle Gina with her spindly spray tanned arms, "I'm so sorry. Your own husband? Marcus was such a nice guy! I never thought he would...Oh my God," she choked, "...Kyrie!" and she burst into tears. Her unnaturally dark face cupped in her palms, she ran off, trailing her cloying coconut scent behind her.

In the center of the store was a memorial shrine with a full color poster blazoning Kyrie's face and bedecked with wreaths, cards and flowers. There were no roses. One unfortunate and very stupid girl, the Intimate Apparel cashier, had laid roses at Kyrie's alter and was quickly fired.

In Loving Memory

Kyrie Lynn Ellis

1986-2010

Gina stopped and caressed Kyrie's matte cheek with the side of a finger. Cold, textured photo paper instead of warm skin, Kyrie was so much more palatable now that she was dead. Though, she really was a pretty girl, Gina admitted to herself. Not quite a pang, a slight quiver, a twitch of remorse tried to form in the shreds of Gina's heart. She could see where Marcus was so taken with her, but it was no excuse. Her face hardened, she mastered herself and walked away.

Gina encountered Robert while she walked.

"Welcome back," she vaguely registered him saying amid the blithering niceties, "We're lucky to have you."

"You're lucky I don't line you up right next to her," she murmured afterward, for in her mind the echoes of their last conversation still rang in a haze of bitter hatred.

"We're reaching out to our... more youthful customers. We need a fresh perspective, a fresh face."

"I'm sorry, Gina. We're going with Kyrie."

Gina pinched between her eyes. The memory gave her a headache.

When Gina reached her office, she found the door ajar and upon her desk her own excess of cards, balloons and stuffed animals. Gina sighed. She'd already dropped off a carload of this crap from the hospital at a donation center.

Gina froze, petrified when she saw in the center of the mass of fluffy flowery affection, a dozen red roses wrapped in green plastic. The lay on top of a newspaper, whose inverted headline read,

CASANOVA SLASHER KILLED

OVERNIGHT RAMPAGE LEAVES THREE DEAD ONE IN CRITICAL CONDITION

Three? Marcus, Kyrie and who? She trod up to the desk and picked up the paper.

'...in a bizarre twist, the remains of a man identified as Simon Neely, were found on the property along with the bodies of Ellis and Euler. Neely, 62, was as recently as that day paroled from Washington State Correctional Facility where he had been incarcerated these last twenty years for aggravated sexual battery of a minor. Records indicate he was the father of the surviving victim, Gina Euler, 34 whom he is alleged to have assaulted. Forensic evidence is expected to link Marcus Euler to the crimes and...'

Gina let the paper slip from her fingers to the floor. Gina's pounding heart positively stopped as two lissome arms slithered around her from behind. The beginning of a gasp escaped her before black leather clamped over her mouth. The sharp pressure of cold metal against her throat kept her from struggling.

"Close the door, Gina." His whisper was soft and calm, his breath sweet. The concupiscent smell of Armani flooded her senses, its scent rich, full and lulling. Gina's heart remembered itself and thudded beneath her breast. The seductive voice, the flowers, it could only be he. Her worst fear was reality. Casanova had come for her.

"Gina," his lips caressed her neck under her ear. "I've become so stricken with you. Your courage and cunning are an inhalation of the divine. Who dares but you?" His grip eased and he swayed her gently side to side, his breath deep and slow as his face, smooth and hairless as her own, nuzzled her. But for the knife at her throat, he held her like a lover. In spite of her fear, Gina closed her eyes and fell into a soporific calm.

"To destroy your enemies you took all but a thread of your own life. You stabbed yourself until you tasted your own blood, until you were too weak to hold the blade. What does it feel like, Gina? I have often wondered at it, but I'm afraid I lack the courage to satisfy my curiosity." Gina remained silent but remembered her surprise when she had plunged the knife into herself. It felt nothing like she expected. It did not sting as when she pricked her skin with it, practicing the stroke, but was more of a dull thump, like a blow to the belly with an ice-cold hammer. Encouraged by the relative lack of pain, she had repeated the process until she collapsed. To be convincing, she had taken no care to miss vital organs, but relied purely on fate that paramedics would find her in time. After she'd scattered the roses on the floor she dialed 911 and drove the blade into herself. She screamed and turned off the phone.

"Please, Gina, don't disappoint me by screaming now." Casanova released her mouth and she turned to face him. He was slight of build, barely her match in weight. His deep brown eyes glided over the subtle angles of her face and rested on her own.

"You killed me. You tarnished and destroyed my image. That I can forgive, but Casanova cannot die. What better way to resurrect him than with your blood strewn across a new headline?

"I've never killed anybody I didn't love, Gina. I love them all, but I've never loved anyone I didn't kill. I don't want you dead. I just want to kill you. There's no more beautiful sight than a woman's eyes as I breathe in her last breath. I'm truly sorry the effect is permanent."

Gina's mouth parted and her eyes searched for anything that could save her.

"Don't look so afraid. You'll love it. They all do. Life is just a huge orgy. Murder is sex, and death is the last great orgasm. You'll come so hard you'll die." His lips curled over his teeth and his eyes shone as he pressed her against the door. His free hand slipped under her skirt and his gloved fingers ran against the white lace of her panties, up her cleft to circle her clit and back down. Casanova had earned his name well. All circumstances forgotten, in spite of everything, Gina slickened. The man was both sex and death itself. They were one. Gina made a sound as she bent forward, her eyes closed and her mouth opened. Casanova's fingers continued to probe her as his lips closed around hers. She gasped aloud and winced as the familiar chill and numb slug of steel entered her abdomen just under her ribcage. At the same time, Casanova fingers penetrated her between the legs and thrust in slow rhythm while pushing the knife into her chest. Why didn't she resist? How could she let it go on? He was killing her. How could the seduction of death be so compelling?

Casanova withdrew both the knife and his hand.

"Won't you come for me, Gina?"

He made to reenter her and penetrate her afresh. This was suicide! As her head began to spin and her vision tunneled, Gina gave her final defense. She took hold of his hand and pulled the knife into herself, and thrust her pelvis onto his while wrapping her legs around him. She moaned and cried aloud. She marveled at her own performance as she began to tremble inside. The pain was actually bringing her to orgasm. Casanova's expression changed to amazement as Gina buried the blade to the hilt in her own chest and blood began to stream from the corner of her mouth. He had never seen such enthusiasm and his hand began to falter from the blade as his excitement built. He put both hands on Gina's hips and pounded her against the door with all his strength. He thrust the blade as hard as he could until his legs almost gave way beneath him. He looked up and gave a deep grunt, and he quivered, his hands bracing for support against the office door. Gina smiled wide, her teeth red with her own blood.

There were loud rustlings and grunting coming from Gina's office. Michael, the young man who'd taken Kyrie's position as Floor Manager, pounded on the door and demanded if everything was okay, but there was no answer until a gurgling scream gave him panicked vigor to force himself into the room. The door gave only inches at a time as he shoved. There was something heavy in front of it, and a puddle of blood grew under the crack.

"Gina!" Michael cried out. The only answer was a whimper.

Michael pushed with all the force his small frame could give. He slipped in the pool of blood and went down hard on his knee, but he could now wedge his torso into the room.

"Gina?" he said though gnashed teeth and squinting eyes.

"Help..." a weak voice, almost a dying whisper pleaded. Michael could not believe his eyes. There was indeed a lifeless body slumped against the door with the black handle of a knife protruding from the throat. Another sprawled on the floor in an undignified state of partial undress. Clothing was stained with spreading red lakes, slashed, perforated and torn from both. The supine body blinked.

"Help me, please. Call an ambulance." It was all the vitality that remained to speak. Eyes sank closed and head slumped to the floor.

~~~~

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